


The Princess and the Snow

by Meowmeowmerida



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BAMF Jon Snow, BAMF Sand Snakes, Child Abuse, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow knows something, Jon goes to Dorne, Multi, Oberyn is a good dad, Oberyn raises scary children, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Underage, Robert has bad ideas, Sort Of, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowmeowmerida/pseuds/Meowmeowmerida
Summary: Jon Snow is a secret Targaryen. However, he's a secret Targaryen with the mark of the Martells etched into his skin.Arianne Martell is a Dornish princess. A Dornish princess that fears that her father will replace her with her brother and a northern bastard's mark on her thigh.This is not a love story. This is a tale of abuse, intrigue, and a man's fight for his place in the world. A soulmate doesn't always mean home and safety. An odd couple doesn't always work.





	1. Prologue: The Marks

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [When The Snake Bites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838280) by [Avery_Fontaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Fontaine/pseuds/Avery_Fontaine). 



> ATTENTION!  
> So I got this idea from 'Bequeathed From Pale Estates' and another story called 'When the Snake Bites'. I will be messing with some of the events and the timeline for them. Such as the Stark children will get their direwolves at the age that they did in the books, however the cannon events will start around the time they do in the television show. There will also be canon divergances earlier in the series which you will see.

_ “The idea of finding your soul mate, whether it's online or not, is what people want.” _

_ -Nev Schulman _

  
  


3rd Person PoV

 

Doran had not had an easy year. So many of his family were dead, and his countrymen were dead. The dynasty that had held onto the Seven Kingdoms for almost three centuries was dead. His sister the princess who should have been a queen, murdered and raped by one of Tywin Lannister’s men, her daughter stabbed half a hundred times. A girl of three. Her infant brother was left headless because some monster had smashed the infant’s skull into a wall. Doran hoped that the blood would always be there, that no amount of scrubbing would wash away the sins committed against his family. He hoped that the Baratheon King was childless and his Lannister wife cold. 

 

As he sat brooding his daughter burst into the room crying. Doran was immediately terrified, worrying over her being poisoned or bit by some beast of the desert. He couldn't loose his daughter. He would probably die.  


 

“Daddy! It hurts!” She cries reaching out for him.

 

“What hurts?” He tries to be calm but he’s shaking. He’s so worried.

 

“My leg,” she points to her thigh hitching up her skirts and showing off a mark. Doran almost cries in relief, his daughter would live and probably live happily.  


 

Then he looks at the mark. It is the face of a chalk white wolf its teeth, red with blood and gore, bared. In its vermillion eyes he sees the reflection of a dragon. The wolf looks like it had eaten something and it is surrounded by a twisting wreath of fire. The white wolf stands out stark against his daughter’s darker skin. Her eyes are filled with tears. Doran does not know who this mark is meant for. He doesn’t know it’s match. He can only hope that it’s match isn’t found in the family of Lord Eddard Stark. 

 

“It’s a mark sweetling. It means your mate has been born.” Arianne who had been calming down begins to cry harder.

 

“I don’t want a mate. I want uncle Oberyn to be happy! Why couldn’t he get one?!” Doran silently wishes Oberyn had been the one to get a mark as well, but he doesn’t say it.

 

“I don’t know sweetling, but this is the gods’ will.”

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

**Tower of Joy**

 

As Ned looked at his nephew, the true king of westeros. He discovers a mark on his right shoulder blade. It is the sigil of House Martell, and he stops. He hopes that no one will ever find out about this child's mark. The child of Rhaegar and Lyanna could not find peace and happiness in the home of the Martells. Although it could have gone a long way to assuage their anger at Rhaegar had the Targaryen’s won the war. Alas that had not happened.

 

He would be seen as an insult against their beloved late Princess. He would be treated horribly. Ned knew that he had to hide the mark from everyone. Howland was sworn to secrecy. What was one more secret in the face of the one they all ready held? They were committing treason. The son of Rhaegar should be turned over but Ned refused to see another one of his kin killed.

 

He couldn’t save Lyanna, Brandon, or his father. However little Jaehaerys or Jon as Ned was calling him was someone he could save. He would save the boy from the King and hopefully the scorn of the Dornish court. He would save the boy from those that wanted to use him to restore the Targaryens.

 

Lyanna wanted her son safe and happy and neither of those things could be found in the south.


	2. Chapter 1: The King's Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned had hoped he could hide his nephew's mark forever. He was wrong. Jon Arryn sacrifices his namesake for peace.

_ “I've learnt that there's a soul mate somewhere in this world. Till you don't find that person, the search goes on.” _

_ -Preity Zinta _

  
  


3rd Person PoV

 

**Winterfell- 289 AC**

 

After the Greyjoy Rebellion ended, and before the tourney of Lannisport began the King journeyed to Winterfell. The man wanted to see Ned’s family, and avoid his own. Ned had his third child, born while he was away. A second girl with the Stark coloring that her siblings lacked. He hadn’t had the chance to see Ned Stark’s bastard son, although he had heard that the boy looked more Stark than his brother. Probably Lady Catelyn’s doing thinking he would be offended by the boy's presence. Robert had bastards across the Seven Kingdoms. He didn’t give half a crap.

 

Robert had also discovered the wondrous hot springs that were used to heat Winterfell by being pushed into the walls. They were under the castle and well shielded from the cold outside. Many in Winterfell had taken to going into the warm pools when the summer snows were especially cold. As long as they had time to dry out before they left the pools.

 

He had wanted to try one of these pools and had come across two boys playing together. One had the red hair and blue eyes of the Tully’s. It was his namesake Robb Stark. He was obviously a healthy boy and he would grow up to look like Brandon. Robert was sure of it. The other boy might have been an image of Ned as a child. He was skinnier than his brother, paler although healthy as well. He had thick dark curls. Robert’s attention was taken up by the boy’s mark. It was the sigil of House Martell. The red sun being pierced by the gold spear on an orange background.

 

He immediately goes to confront Ned about it. He wanted to know just what member of that house was promised to his friend’s bastard son.

 

He found Ned in his solar along with his Lady wife, working. Robert admired the man’s tenacity but also shook his head wishing his friend could relax like he did when he was younger. 

 

“So Ned, which member of House Martell is fated to be with your bastard?” Lady Catelyn seemed surprised which meant that she didn’t know about the mark.

 

“What do you mean your grace?”

 

“I mean that Ned’s bastard has the Martell sigil on his right shoulder blade, plain as day. I wanted to go and try your heated pools and saw the boy.”

 

“I don’t know your grace. I thought it best to give the Martells time before telling them that one of their own is fated to be with my child.” Robert saw the trepidation on his friend’s face.

 

“You didn’t want to send your boy into the viper’s pit?” The man clenches his fist.

 

“Aye, your grace. He’s only a boy, and he’s of my blood and enough of my blood have gone South and never returned.” Robert almost flinched he could understand the man’s fears but this was too good of an opportunity for the unification of the Realms for Robert to pass up.

 

“What about this Ned? Just let us send a letter asking who in the Seven Hells it could be.” His wife seemed enthused at the prospect, whether that was the death of the bastard boy or just getting him out of Winterfell, Robert could not be sure.

 

“Of course your grace. I will do that right away.”

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

**Sunspear- One Moon Later**

 

Doran was not surprised that he was getting a letter with the Stark seal on it. He had been expecting it, ever since the mark had appeared on his daughter. He had been dreading it. He was just surprised that it had taken this long for him to write. Maybe Lord Stark was just reluctant to send his one of his children to Sunspear as Doran was to take another Princess away from Dorne.

 

When he opened it and read it he realized why the man was so reluctant to tell Doran of his daughter’s match. It was his bastard son that had his house’s sigil branded onto his right shoulder blade. He was a boy of 7, Arianne was currently twice his age. He had hoped it was Benjen and that it had only developed after the Rebellion, but it seemed that her mark came to be when the boy was born.  


 

He knew that this was not going to be a good relationship. He was tempted to say that he did not know of anyone in his household with a mark. However, the Martells needed leverage against the North. They needed allies, or at least someone that wouldn’t fight against them. He needed to know why there was a dragon in the eyes of a direwolf.  


 

He called his daughter before him along with his brother. They both needed to know about who Arianne’s fated is.

 

“Brother what have you called us here for?” Oberyn asks a smile on his face probably thinking it was some minor indiscretion of his or Arianne’s.

 

“Lord Stark has written. Apparently his bastard son has the sigil of House Martell on his right shoulder. He’s had it since he was a babe.”

 

“And Lord Stark has only just written now?” Oberyn asks and Arianne seem to be pondering the turn of events.

 

“He’s probably just as reluctant to send his kin south as we are to send ours North.” Oberyn almost flinches in response, even after seven years the wounds have not had that much time to heal.

 

“So, the boy is coming here then?” Arianne asks her father. 

 

“Only if Lord Stark agrees. No one would blame him for waiting to send his son South.”

 

“I doubt his Lady wife will tolerate his bastard son for much longer.” Oberyn snorts, rolling his eyes. “You know how those people are, brother. I’ve heard rumors of the child looking more Stark than his trueborn brother. She’s probably worried that he’ll choose his bastard over her Tully brood.”

 

“So what will he be called? I doubt anyone of Northern blood would be accepted as the boy, mark or no mark, as my husband.”

 

“No he would be you Lord Consort until you either take him as a husband or take another as a husband.”

 

“I don’t understand why I just can’t call him a paramour and be done with it.”

 

“Lord Consort is just the official term used by the Kingdoms that are not as open as us, my dear niece.” Arianne huffed.

 

“I will send a letter back to Lord Stark asking for the boy to be fostered until a time in which you two can bond.”

 

“So until he’s a man? I will be an old maid by then.” Arianne complains, her arms crossed across her chest her eyes rolling.

 

“I was thinking at age 10-and-4.” Doran says blandly.

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

**King’s Landing- 290 A.C.**

 

“It is rather unfortunate that the boy will be sent there. I’ve heard his bond mate is most… unenthusiastic. I do not blame her considering their age difference.” Varys says as the Small Council meets. 

 

The King is actually there for once along with his brother Lord Stannis the Master of Ships, although everyone knew that the blue eyed Valyrian looking man at his side, Lord Lucerys Velaryon, was the true Master of Ships. Lord Tarly was there as Master of Laws, at least until Renly was old enough to take over. Of course there was also the Hand, Lord Jon Arryn and his appointed Master of Coin Petyr Baelish, along with Grandmaester Pycelle and Varys himself. All of them were weary from the war and surprised by the news of Dornish princess’ mark. Not many had known that the Bastard of Winterfell and the Princess of Dorne had even had marks, much less that they were meant for each other. A white wolf on the princess’ thigh, and the Martell sigil on the boy’s back.

 

Robert thought it to be hilarious. As the Dornish are known for loving bastards the fact that there future Ruling Princess could be bonded to a bastard. He hoped that the boy would be the girl’s Prince Consort.

 

“I doubt that the Martell’s would allow that your grace. At most the boy might be her Lord Consort.” Pycelle put in his own little addition to the discussion.

 

A Lord Consort or Lady Consort could be many things. They could be those that are bonded but are of two very different social classes such as the case with the princess. They could be two members of the same gender such as Lord Renly and Lord Loras. They could be the bonded of a much older married Lord or Lady. Or they could share a mark with a sibling. The Consort part was to make sure that even if the two bonded never married they still would receive something from their bonded if they passed before them.

 

“We can’t force them to marry her to her bonded. We want to tie Dorne to us not alienate them even more. If Prince Doran and Lord Stark are alright with it then the boy could be sent to Sunspear and when he is older they could bond.” Lord Tarly said severely, the man might not like the wanton ways of Dorne but the loyalists would stick together  


 

“We will have to wait on the Martells and the Starks. Both would be reluctant for this match.” Baelish adds not that anyone truly cared for the weasel's opinion. 

 

“If it does go through we’ll have to have a tourney. We would finally be bringing the Martells back into the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

“Of course, your grace. I will set aside some coin just for that purpose.”

 

This was going to change many things. Jon Arryn knew that his namesake was unlikely to find the love some bonded and the songs espoused. However, the Martells and Dorne had not remained the only unconquered Kingdom in the face of dragons for no reason. They’re smallfolk all know how to use a spear, not necessarily well but the entirety of Dorne from the prince to a sailor could be mobilized to fight. It was a terrifying prospect for Jon Arryn and any man who stopped for even a second to think about the force that Dorne could bring to bear. 

 

He could only hope that the Kingdoms would be unified once again, and that his namesake would not be crushed by Elia’s people in their grief. He hoped that this wouldn’t spark another war. He would have to speak to Doran and get him to understand the consequences of the death of Jon Snow. 

 

This situation had two possible outcomes. The unification of the Seven Kingdoms at the expense of two children’s happiness, or the destruction of the Realms. 

 

Jon Arryn shuddered to think what would happen if Jon Snow died. Ned Stark and the North would not stand another member of the Stark family, bastard or trueborn, being killed in the South. There could only be five kingdoms left to Robert’s children.

  
  



	3. Chapter 2: The Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two marked children finally meet. Arianne hates the child she is fettered to for the rest of her natural life. Jon never wanted to go South and his anxieties were vindicated as soon as he meets the impossibly beautiful hateful princess who carries his mark.

**Chapter 2: The Bonded**

 

_ “I used to believe in one true soul mate, but not anymore. I believe you can have a few.” _

_ -Paul Walker _

 

3rd Person PoV

 

Jon Snow was apprehensive about going South. He was excited about meeting his bonded but Lady Stark and Septa Mordane had said some things that made him scared. 

 

The Martells do not have good relations with the Starks. It was a new mistrust that formed after the death of Elia Martell and her children at the hand of Tywin Lannister’s men, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. Of course no one had told the Martells who exactly had ordered the death of their sister and aunt. They were hoping for the wounds to heal more before they told them the murderers of their family. Or at least that's what Jon had gathered from the conversations between his father, Lady Catelyn, and Maester Luwin.

 

He was also only going to be a Lord Consort. The tales from Septa Mordane had painted Lord and Lady Consorts as little more than whores when they were women, and glorified guards when they were men. Many never had children with their bonded, and there were even darker stories of Lord and Lady Consorts being poisoned so as to be removed from the family as a burden that no one wanted in the first place. Jon thought that Septa Mordane and Lady Catelyn were probably praying for that to happen. Let him and his threat to Robb die far away in the sands of Dorne.  


 

Jon was terrified. His Lady bonded or Princess bonded was the Heir of Dorne. Dorne had been described to him as a Kingdom full of wanton sinners. Men and women who stabbed each other in the back and got rid of the bodies in the deserts that covered the majority of the Kingdom. 

 

His father had tried to assuage his fears. Jon was born in Dorne, and the Dornish were like the North in the fact that they did not truly wish to kill anyone from there Kingdom. They were as proud of a people as the men and women in the North. On top of that despite the fact that Jon was a bastard the North would not stand for another person with Stark blood going South and dying. Lord Stark had also gotten his foster father to talk with the current ruler of Dorne, Prince Doran. His father had gotten a letter from Prince Doran assuring him that Jon would not be harmed by his family and his bannermen. If he was Doran and his brother would personally deal with them.  


 

His Lord Father, Jon, and his brother Robb all made their way South. The group of Northmen would meet the Martells in King’s Landing. Jon and his brother were to be present before the King along with Princess Arianne. The King was throwing a tourney in honor of the Unification of the Seven Kingdoms as many called it.

 

Robb was excited and Jon was as well but for different reasons. Jon was excited to see the melee and the many men that were going to participate. Robb was excited to meet his brother’s bonded and her family. Jon was not because his bonded was seven years his elder almost a woman grown at this point and of course despite his father assurances he was still worried about dying young.

 

Before they even arrived at the capital, Jon could smell a horrible smell. It smelled like uncleaned stables and dead animals. He thought that maybe it was a trash heap that was outside of King’s Landing but it seemed that it was King’s Landing itself. The heat only made the smell worse. They entered the city and Jon felt like he wanted to throw up. He was scared, and the smell was oppressive. As they got closer to the Red Keep the smell seemed to fade away.

 

They were greeted by an older man wearing blue. He greets his father warmly and his father does the same. Jon knew it could only be the Hand of the King Lord Jon Arryn, his father’s foster father.

 

“You must be Robb.” He says looking at Jon’s brother, and Robb greeted him with a smile both of the boys dismounting off of their ponies.

 

“Aye I am my lord.”

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Robb. And you must be Jon.” Jon wanted to shrink back.

 

“Yes my lord, it is nice to meet you.” The older man smiles at him.

 

“It is nice to meet you as well Jon. Come let’s get you settled into your rooms. You are going to be presented to the King later.” Jon was dreading that because it meant that he would be meeting his fated not long after.

 

They were ushered into a set of rooms and Jon changed into a grey doublet with a white wolf emblazoned on the front. It was so no one in court mistook him as Lord Stark’s trueborn son. He wore his best, and thinnest, clothes. His boots were new and well made with shiny silver buckles. His pants were black and unlined. There was little he could do about his wildly curly hair. His father called them Flint curls, thick untamed curls were something that that particular Mountain Clan was known for. Lord Stark said that it came from his grandmother Lady Lyarra Stark. She apparently had beautiful thick curls until the moment she died.

 

So he and his brother, who’s hair was actually tamable and brushed back nicely, greet their father. They all make their way into the throne room. The same throne room where Jon’s grandfather and uncle were killed by the Mad King. Where Elia and her dead children were shown off to the current king. His father strode in confidently and Jon and Robb tried to follow his lead. Of course they didn’t even try to match their father’s stride.

 

The King is sitting on the Throne looking like a Storm King of old. Tall, proud, black of hair sturdily built and sitting upon a throne. His Queen was blonde and beautiful but the way her nose was upturned and her shifting green eyes gave Jon the impression that she was looking down on all of them.   


 

“Your grace,” his father bows and Jon and Robb follow his lead.

 

“Good to see you again Ned!” The King greeted with a smile. “I believe you have some members of your house to introduce.”

 

“I do your grace. This is my son and heir Robb Stark.” Robb bowed deeply.

 

“Your grace.” Everyone in the room began whispering focusing in on Jon.

 

“And this is my natural son Jon Snow. The princess Arianne’s fated.” Jon bows lowly, lower than his brother.

 

“Your grace.” He says luckily his voice isn’t too quiet or shaking.

 

“Come up here lad. I’m sure everyone is eager to see you.” Jon stiffens but says.

 

“Of course your grace.” He approaches the dais not daring to look up.

 

“No need to bow your head boy! Look up!” The large man commands.

 

Jon looks up and around the room. There are many people there, crowding the room. All of them are dressed finely and in a similar style. There is a representative of all of the crown lands lords and ladies. However most seem to be from the Westerlands. They all take in his face and whisper among each other.

 

He sees the pierced sun of the Martells in the front row. There are two people wearing the actual sigil. One is a man with dark eyes who is taking him in with interest. The other is a pretty maiden wearing a diadem and a long flowing dress that was the same orange as the man with her. 

 

“Well Princess are you going to greet your fated?” The King asked her mockingly.

 

“Of course your grace.” She says standing up, the ‘your grace’ spit from her mouth.

 

She approaches and there is little doubt that she is truly a princess. She is the most graceful girl or woman he had ever seen. She approaches her silks flowing out behind her like a cloak in the snowy winds. It takes little time for her to get to Jon.

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you Princess.” She looks down at him like the Queen looks down at everyone and his stomach sinks.

 

“You as well Jon Snow.” Her voice is sickly sweet but her eyes are angry. “I hope you will find Dorne to your liking.”

 

“I’m certain I will, Princess.” Jon didn’t want to call her your grace in front of the king.

 

They were ushered a part from each other and court ended for the day. Jon knew that the Princess was likely to be annoyed that her match was a seven year old boy from a family that her didn’t like. However the anger in her eyes made his stomach plummet to his feet. There was hatred there. Jon could only hope that it was from her having to deal with the King, and not from him.

 

“You handled yourself very well Jon. You should be proud.”

 

“I don’t think the Princess likes me.” He tells his father, and he looks sad and tired.

 

“I knew that your bonding wasn’t likely to be a song. However, I have little doubt that you will come to care for each other eventually.” His father assured him.

 

“Like you and Lady Stark?”

 

“Exactly, it might be a little more complicated than our marriage but you are a sweet boy Jon. I have little doubt that Princess Arianne will see that eventually.” Jon smiled at his father, thankful for his comfort, but all he could think about was the hatred in the Princess’ eyes.

 

&. &. &. &. &. &. &. &. &. 

 

“So what did you think of the boy?” Oberyn asked of his niece.

 

“He’s a boy,” she tells him. “What interest could come from a child?”

 

“Do you think he’s Lady Ashara’s son?” He asks a little annoyed at how his niece didn’t take anything in.

 

“I barely remember ever meeting Lady Ashara although his eyes were a very dark purple. So I would assume he’s half Dayne.”

 

She is only 10-and-4. She reminds Oberyn of himself. She is impulsive, bright but she does not apply herself more interested in life’s pleasures. She was prone to mercurial moods and held grudges. She already decided she would hate the boy. Of course she wasn't going to pay him any attention. Oberyn had seen the boy attempting to hide his thoughts. It hadn't worked and Oberyn could only feel sad for the boy.  


 

“Arianne, what are you planning for the boy?”

 

“Why do you think I’m planning anything?” She asks petulantly, glaring at him and crossing her arms over her chest.  


 

“You are always planning something. What are you planning?” Oberyn asks her.

 

“Nothing that would kill him. I know the stakes.” Arianne tells him haughtily.

 

“I have watched many people and the only thing I saw on that child’s face was complete fear. Those North of Dorne treat bastards horribly, he has probably been punished by his own family enough.”

 

“So you’re defending your sister’s murderers?”

 

“I’m defending a child that has their blood in his veins. He was born after they were dead. We know that for a fact.” Arianne looks away from Oberyn, sulking. “I’m not asking for you to love him. I’m asking for you to treat him like a person.”

She leaves him behind without an answer.


	4. Chapter 3: The Tourney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne truly dislikes Jon Snow. Jon Snow tries to deal with his soulmates hatred to her detriment.

_ “I believe our legacy will be defined by the accomplishments and fearless nature by which our daughters and sons take on the global challenges we face. I also wonder if perhaps the most lasting expression of one's humility lies in our ability to foster and mentor our children.” _

_ -Naveen Jain _

 

3rd Person PoV

 

The next day Jon and Arianne were sat next to each other. Robb was to his left and his father behind them closer to the King. Prince Oberyn was on Princess Arianne’s right and was attempting to engage Jon in conversation.

 

“I’ve heard that Northerners steal their wives. Is that true?”

 

“Maybe if you’re a wildling, Prince Oberyn. Everyone else gets married before a Heart Tree.”

 

“I also heard that it snows in summer.”

 

“That is true! A snowstorm blew in a fortnight before we left for King’s Landing!” Robb exclaimed.

 

Princess Arianne is notably silent. She doesn’t even look Jon’s way. He didn’t really expect any different but it still hurt. However, her princely uncle seemed to be encouraging Jon to speak for himself. He had no idea why. Oberyn seemed nice to Jon, but he was wary of the man as most people were. One did not earn the nickname the Red Viper for nothing. The first day of the tourney was mostly the archery competitions. There was one for highborn ladies, fewer women were participating then they would in the North, and the other was for men. Jon had never truly liked archery preferring swordplay.

 

“Don’t appreciate archery?” Arianne asks him sneering.

 

“No Princess, I find that I have little skill in it.” He says wishing he could bow out and leave. “I am excited for the melee however.”

 

“You want to watch men beat each other half to death with their swords?” Jon wanted to flinch back at the disgust in her voice.

 

“Y-yes princess.” He ignored as many attempts for the Prince to engage him after that.

 

There is hurt blooming in his chest. After yesterday he had gotten his hopes up that the hatred in her eyes was for the King. It wasn’t it was for him, or at least an image of him she had built up. He didn’t know how to deal with poison words besides to avoid the person spitting them.

 

However he could not escape. A woman might be able to say she felt faint or tired but a boy, even a child, would have been laughed out of the box. So he sat there, his brother had taken his hand and was rubbing it with his thumb, his father’s hand on his shoulder, a Prince attempting to engage him, and a cold soulmate.

 

The archery competition ended with two winners from minor houses in the Westerlands for the man, and Crownlands for the women. Both were given a good amount of coin for the prize. Although the greatest amount of golden dragons would be given to the winner of joust.

 

After that they went back into the castle for a feast. Jon and Princess Arianne were sat together at the high table. Jon did not want to be there, he wanted his father and brother. He wanted to go home. Everyone is glancing at them. The women are gossiping among themselves and the men seem to get increasingly drunk as the night wears on. 

 

Luckily he gets out early as any of the other children did. He was glad. When his brother and himself got to their rooms, Robb grabbed his hand and told him they were sharing them the bed. They did so when they were very young during winter, but they hadn’t done it in a while. Jon was glad to snuggle up with his brother and let tears slip silently down his face onto the unfamiliar sheets below.

 

&. &. &. &. &. &. &. &. &. &. &. 

 

The next day it was the melee. What Jon thought would be the most interesting part of the tourney.

 

Jon was once again sat next the Princess. Although his brother would get him to converse with him rather than the Prince. Although the Dornishmen did still try to engage him in conversation.

 

The King was participating in the melee and it seemed that the southerners would not give the man a good fight to afraid of wounding and killing their King so soon after a rebellion. The King was angered by this, shouting at the other men calling them cravens and sycophants. He was not wrong about the sycophants part and they were more terrified of the consequences of killing the king with an ill placed blow than actually fighting the man. 

 

In the end the King became so frustrated that he stormed out of the ring and left the rest of the men to duel. Jon found it to be only a little bit more exciting than the archery competition which are known to be horridly dull.

 

Arianne did not speak to Jon throughout the day and one of her sworn knights won the melee. A Ser Daemon Sand was victorious and the King seemed to hate to give the money to a Dornishman but happy to give it to a bastard. He seemed to dislike the social niceties everyone else followed. Jon had heard that he had multiple bastards throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Including a boy on a highborn lady in his brother’s marriage bed.

 

Jon truly didn’t know what to make of the situation.

 

His father was trying very hard to be comforting but Jon knew that as soon as the King saw his mark that he was destined to be sacrificed for the unification of the Realms. He could see it in the way his father held himself. He acted like they only had so much time left. He had told Jon that they could go home if Jon truly wanted to, but what was one bastard boy’s happiness in the face of thousands of lives that could be saved? A war that could be prevented?

 

He wouldn’t tell his father he wanted to go home. He might never have a happy relationship with his bonded but he would rather die than risk a war that could kill his siblings like the Rebellion killed father’s. The Martells had Targaryen blood, and the Targaryens took three Starks, Jon would make sure their blood didn’t take three more.

 

There was another feast that night. He was once again separated from his father and brother. Prince Oberyn pounced on the opportunity.

 

“So, are you excited for the jousting?” Arianne doesn’t look his way and a little vindictive part of him seized the moment.

 

“Not particularly, Prince Oberyn, I don’t see the appeal in men getting knocked off horses with a stick. If I wanted to see that I would go riding in the woods with Greyjoy.” The man laughed deeply and loudly, his head thrown back.

 

Princess Arianne stiffens and gives him a glare. Jon stares back at her with large eyes. The Queen seemed to take a vindictive pleasure in his fated’s anger, looking down her nose at him with a raised eyebrow. Ser Jaime seemed to be considering him. The King was completely oblivious to anything outside of the chalice filled with wine in front of him. His young son seemed to be doing his best impression of his queenly mother. Lord Jon Arryn, the man Jon himself was named after, gave him a small sad smile. Lady Catelyn’s sister wasn’t there, she was apparently in the Eyrie. Ser Daemon Sand, his bond mate’s sworn shield, seemed to consider him. His sharp dark eyes darting between the fuming princess and himself.

 

Jon left the feast early, although later than Prince Joffrey, with a smile on his face and the feeling of victory settling in his bones. Robb greeted him happily, obviously glad to see a smile on Jon’s face.

 

“What happened? You’re smiling.”

 

“You know how Princess Arianne insulted my want to see the melee.” Robb nodded and said.

 

“Yes, what does that have to do with it?”

 

“I said I didn’t really wish to see the joust when I could just go riding with Greyjoy.” Robb giggled at that.

 

“Was she angry?”

 

“Furious, Prince Oberyn through it was hilarious.” The two laugh together.

 

“After tomorrow you can avoid her for a while.” Robb says after a second and Jon nods.

 

He feels like it’s sad that he feels joy when he makes his bond mate angry. However, he only hoped that this told his fated that he was not be walked all over and insulted. She might be a princess and his family a lordly house but Jon was descended from a line of Kings that only ceased to be kings when dragons forced them to bend the knee. Her people hid from the dragons and waited them out.

 

“Maybe we’ll find some hidden treasure or passageways.” Jon says to his brother and Robb smiled.

 

They climbed into bed together and Jon fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

Princess Arianne was pacing in her rooms. She was fuming, prowling like a caged animal. She was also ranting to her lover Ser Daemon Sand.

 

“The nerve of that-that… that savage BRAT!” Arianne raved to the bastard knight.

 

“He’s a child Arianne. Children are petty creatures. You insulted him and he found a way to insult you back.” He tells her attempting to calm her down.

 

“I am the Princess of Dorne. I will not be spoken to in such a way by some bastard.” She paced for a few steps before she seemed to realize what she said and paled. “Daemon I didn’t mean-”

 

“I think you knew exactly what you meant princess.”

 

“Daemon-”

 

“If I may be excused Princess.” 

 

The blue eyed comely man leaves the room not waiting for the princess to dismiss him. It is silent for a few seconds before she hears slow clapping coming from the doorway. She looks up to see her uncle Oberyn.

 

“Well said niece. You truly have a silver tongue.” Arianne glared at her family member.

 

“Shut up uncle, I didn’t mean to insult him.” Oberyn is quiet and watches Arianne pace a little calmer now.

 

“Jon Snow is purportedly a Dayne.” He says after a long moment of silence. “He has Dornish blood in his veins, and he was born in Dorne.”

 

“What of it?” She asks him angrily. “Must you always speak in riddles uncle?” Oberyn walks towards his niece and puts his hand on her shoulder.

 

“Jon Snow might have been raised in the North and he might have some of their blood, but this mark is allowing us to bring a child of Dorne back home.”  He left his niece behind.

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

The next day was the joust, something that those of the South seemed want to do often. Jon was being truthful when he said that it did not sound like something that he wanted to watch. He was sat in the same place but Prince Oberyn was not among their party. The woman sitting where Oberyn usually did said that he was participating in the joust. He was only slightly relieved to have the one dornishmen who attempted to engage with him. The princess seemed content to ignore him and sometimes make snide comments.

 

However today she seemed to want revenge for what he said last night.

 

“Can you not see the skill that is needed to do a joust?” She asks him looking down her nose at him.

 

“Of course I can princess. It’s just a useless skill to have in my opinion.” Robb covered smiled at him and Jon kept his face innocently blank.

 

“I heard that you don’t have tourney’s in the North.” She snapped at them.

 

“Why give your enemies an estimation of your skill princess?” Robb explained, a cheery smile on his face.

 

“You will not have your brother to save you for much longer.” Arianne stated in monotone with the promise of pain.

 

“We won’t be forced to be around each other every waking moment for much longer, princess.” She narrowed her eyes at him before replying.

 

“Good. The less time spent with a child savage the better.” Jon’s face was blank at her statement but hurt bloomed in his chest.

 

It hurt to think that he would not be going home for a long time, if ever. It hurt that the brother that was more like a twin would be lost to him. They would be on the opposite sides of the continent from each other. Her last two barbs had struck him in those fresh wounds and opened the back up. His grandfather would say that a weak wolf is a dead wolf. Jon felt that would be especially true when surrounded by the vipers of Dorne. His father said that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. This lone wolf would survive.

 

Prince Oberyn was unseated by Ser Barristan, and had it been anyone else Jon doubted that the man would have taken it so well. As it was he clapped the elder Ser on the back they had shared a hushed conversation and they had gone on their way. The King did not attempt to enter this competition, still angry at how the melee had gone. He ranted to his Queen who seemed less enthused to be in her husband’s presence by the second. 

 

Ser Jaime won the joust and when he was presented the crown to give to his Queen of Love and Beauty he rode around the boxes. Jon saw almost every girl hold their breath in anticipation. In the end he gave his sister the crown made of yellow hyacinth, balsamine, and amaryllis. It was a gaudy flower crown if Jon had ever seen one. The amaryllis was a good contrast to the bright yellow of the hyacinth, but that seemed to be the only redeeming feature of the crown in Jon’s mind. The Prince of Dorne found the crown to be more than a little amusing, he would snort at it whenever he saw it.

 

He hid his snorts in the cups of wine at the feast. 

 

“It’s the meaning of the flowers.” He says in a voice barely above a whisper, to be heard in the lively room filled with drunk lords. “Yellow Hyacinth means jealousy, amaryllis means pride, and balsamine means impatience.”

 

“Oh,” he says after a moment before dropping his voice to the same volume as the prince’s. “It’s an insult to her character.”

 

“Yes and I doubt Ser Jaime even knew it. Which makes it all of the more humorous.”

 

Jon truly did think that it was funny. However, he doubted his father would like for him to laugh at his best friend’s wife expense. Even if the majority of the Northern lords and his father hated the Lannisters. Jon did not laugh, he was genuinely more curious as to why the man knew the meanings to all of the flowers.

 

“Prince Oberyn why did you learn flower meanings? Was it something you learned at the Citadel?” Maester Luwin said that most maesters would seek knowledge for knowledge’s sake.

 

“Dorne and the Reach have a tumultuous history. The Reachmen like to insult us using flowers. I learned the meanings of many flowers to make sure I did not look like a fool with a special bouquet given to me by those in the Reach.”

 

Jon felt that insulting someone with flowers is a rather roundabout way of doing things. If Dorne and the Reach did not truly like each other why bother with nice greetings at all?  Greet them as nice as manners dictate and nothing more. He guessed so that it would be easier to get information out of them but it seemed like too much of an expense for so little a reward.   
  



	5. Chapter 4: The Direwolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow shows his true talents when not overshadowed by the shining sun that is his bonded. Oberyn and Ser Barristan learn of a dark secret that could change Westeros forever. Jon and Robb are a dream team.

_ “A direwolf will rip a man’s arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat.” _

_ -Eddard Stark: Game of Thrones Bran I _

 

3rd Person Pov

 

The day after the Tourney Jon woke up happy to not have to deal with the royals in the Red Keep. Robb was equally happy. They were awake earlier than most of the people in the Red Keep. It seemed that Southerners were more likely to sleep the day away. Northerners got up early so as not to waste a minute of sunlight, even in summer. It was a tradition as old as the First Men.

 

Robb and Jon wanted to immediately go and explore or train but they were forced to play with Prince Joffrey. He was annoying, cruel, and he hated Jon along with looking down on their homeland. He only liked to make the both of them feel bad. He was a complete and utter ass. Luckily the Queen herself dragged her son away and the two boys decided to go to the tiltyard.

 

None of the boys there were their age. They were usually three or four years their elder and they all seemed to be wielding real steel. Although the two Stark boys noticed the the majority of them were as bad as Theon.

 

“Do they hand them real steel as soon as they learn basic forms?” Robb asked quietly, honestly surprised at the fact that the Southerners would hand untalented boys weapons.  


 

“Most likely, my lord.” Jon told his brother quietly.  


 

“Mayhaps that is why so many of their children die.”

 

“Perhaps, now shall we fight Stark?” Jon bows forward and says.

 

“Of course.”

 

The two face each other there wood swords in hand, training padding on. They begin by circling each other on the flat dusty ground. Robb struck first and Jon parried. This continued on for a few bouts. Until they realized a few boys were watching them. They seemed to be in the colors of the Lannisters, so probably some Lannister cousins or bannermen.

 

“You are Robb Stark?” One of them asks of Jon’s brother. “You two are good. Why are you still using wooden swords?”

 

“In the North we only give real steel to the very well trained.” Robb says a little bit of a dig at the South. “All of our children are precious we don’t wish to see them dead nor do we necessarily have the surplus of those in the South.” 

 

Jon sees the older boy look a little insulted. It made since because his brother just implied that Southerners didn’t care about their child and handed them real steel before they were ready. Or maybe because he implied that they were not well-trained.  


 

“Well we would like to challenge you with blunted steel. Surely you feel ready for that?”

 

“That sounds like fun Jon. The only person that tries to fight with us back home is Greyjoy and he’s one of the worst fighters I’ve ever dealt with.”

 

“Aye it does sound like a nice change of pace Stark.” 

 

The younger smaller boy decides to challenge Robb. The bigger one hands him a tourney blade which Jon swings it a few times. Then the bigger one returns with his own sword. The two face each other down. The bigger boy immediately goes to strike Jon. He might be bigger and stronger but so is Robb and Greyjoy. He is actually rather used to fighting larger opponents. He barely looses any ground against the boy before the Westerman has to defend. Jon has always been fast, and considered the better sword fighter. Many believed he was the son of Ashara Dayne just on account of his skill. They circle each other striking quickly, dodging, and parrying.

 

Then the boy makes his mistake. He rushes in, Jon dodges, and the larger boy stumbles. Jon puts the sword to the older boy’s throat.

 

“Yield.” He hears the other boy disengages from Robb and charge Jon’s turned back.

 

Jon puts his leg out and trips the other boy and he hits the first sending the both of them sprawling.

 

“I believe that that is quite enough.” Jon sees Ser Jaime glaring at the two boys. “The fact that you needed the both of you to fail is embarrassing. Next time accept defeat.” 

 

The boys separate but look suitably chastised by their Lord Paramount’s son. Robb grabbed Jon’s arm seemingly looking him over for injuries.

 

“I can’t believe those cravens! Attacking your back.”

 

“I haven’t met many bad swordsmen that aren’t cravens. I think it’s how they survive.” Ser Jaime tells them sagely taking in the two of them.

 

“Thank you Ser Jaime.” Jon tells the man because despite his father’s misgivings he had been taught to be polite, his brother nods along with Jon.

 

“You are welcome, young Snow. You are rather good for your age.”

 

“Jon is better than me.” Robb tells the man.

 

“You’re smarter and stronger.” Robb rolls his eyes and Jaime seems to smile slightly although his eyebrows go up like he’s surprised.

 

“I believe you should probably return to your father.”

 

“Yes Ser Jaime.” Jon says grabbing his brother and rapidly stripping off the training padding.

 

Then they go to find a household guard who takes them to their father. He is with another man when they find him in their quarters. Jon recognized him as Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell. His bonded’s uncle. So Jon and Robb decide to leave the man and his father to their conversation. It is most likely a terribly important business conversation. 

 

So the two go about their original plan of exploring the Red Keep.

 

In the end they didn’t find any of the supposed secret passageways or any of the rumored hidden treasures sequestered in the Red Keep. They did find a lot of empty rooms, a Godswood without a heart tree, and a library. It was bigger than the one in Winterfell and it had newer books.

 

Jon loved it immediately.

 

The two boys had also come across Ser Barristan. He had congratulated Jon’s performance in the yard, supposedly seeing it from a balcony. Jon blushed at the old man’s praise. It wasn’t often that anyone was praised by a legendary knight much less _two_.  


 

Robb and Jon ate lunch without their father who was most likely still speaking with the Red Viper. Of course since they ate out in the open rather than in their rooms some lords and ladies approached them. Some with their daughters at their side. Some hoping to curry favor with Robb for a later date, others a betrothal. It was both disgusting and bewildering.

 

It was even worse when they tried to insult Jon to gain Robb’s favor. They warned him what Jon and other bastards would do to their trueborn siblings. However, when Robb said that maybe if bastards weren’t treated like the scum of the earth they would be less likely to try and kill the family that hated them. Then they seemed disgusted by the closeness between the two boys. All of the Southerners seem to gain is Robb’s ire.

 

“I don’t like how these Southerners work.” He tells Jon loud enough for those approaching to hear him. “They remind me of Lord Bolton. I feel as though they would stab me in the back just to gain the tiniest bit of favor.”

 

“Only Father, Lord Cregan, and Lord Torrhen Stark went South and lived.” Jon replies quietly looking at the Southerners decide to approach someone else.  


 

“Yet all of them were affected in some way. It is just as father says, the lone wolf dies-”

 

“But the pack survives,” Jon finishes with a smile.  


 

After lunch the two boys sequestered themselves in the library after lunch. Robb wanted to learn High Valyrian and Jon was better at reading it. They go into the older section of the library and Jon brings out the sheet he had of valyrian words that he knew. It also had a sentence so Jon remembered how the word was used. They found several texts in High Valyrian and began to sound out the books.

 

That was where their father and the Dornish Prince found them.

 

“Working on your High Valyrian?” The prince asks seemingly both surprised and amused.

 

“Yes, your grace. Robb’s trying to get better and we found all of these books so we thought we would practice.”

 

“And what is that?” He asks looking at Jon’s sheet.

 

“It’s the words I know and that I have trouble with. It has their meanings and the word used in a sentence.”

 

“A good thing to have. Maybe you shall write a book about it one day. I’m certain many of those studying the language would like to have such a thing.” 

 

“Maybe, Prince Oberyn.” Jon tells the man shyly.

 

“How good are you at speaking the language?”

 

“Iksan sȳz enough dārilaros Ōbryn.” (I am good enough Prince Oberyn.)

 

“Konir sagon sȳz zoklītsos.” (That is good little wolf.) “However, your accent is undoubtedly Westerosi.”

 

“I don’t think I can do much about that Prince Oberyn.”

 

“Maybe not, but I am glad you can speak it. I often go to Volantis to take my daughter to see her mother. If you speak it I will not have to worry of you if I take you.”

 

“I would love to go your grace.” Jon tells him giving the man a shy smile.

 

“Jon, Robb and I will only be here for another fortnight.” 

 

“The Dornish party must stay unfortunately. I still have business to conduct on behalf of my brother Prince Doran.”

 

“How long will this business go on Prince Oberyn?”

 

“I personally shall not say more than a moon longer in this cursed city.”

 

“I understand Prince Oberyn.”

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

**Fortnight Later**

 

Oberyn watched as his family’s new charge put on a brave face as the boy who was all but his twin and his father left. His silvery eyes were glassy but no tears fell, his back was straight.

 

“He reminds me of Prince Duncan.” Ser Barristan says as he stood next to the man. “Although, he is probably much more duty bound than he ever was.”

 

There was an insinuation there and when Oberyn looked at the boy more closely he almost gasped. He realized that the supposed ‘Flint’ curls were Rhoynish, his chin the same as the sad Queen Rhaella. So that was who the boy’s mother was: Lyanna Stark, and his father Rhaegar Targaryen. He wanted to hate the child but he had  _ met _ him. 

 

The boy was shy and kind. He had befriended the craven son of Randyll Tarly. He had coached the boy on getting better. He made an unsubtle attempt to imply to Oberyn that Samwell would be better off with those in the North. He had even spoken to Samwell about the battle prowess of the large Umber men and the Seven following Manderlys. In the end Lord Stark and Prince Oberyn had gotten the boy fostered with the Umbers to ‘toughen’ the child up. 

 

He couldn’t hate the child because he knew that had Elia lived she would have taken this child into her arms and declared him a son. He couldn’t hate the child because he was stuck with one of the worst sires in the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Lord Stark might not have been good at playing the Game but he had played the entirety of Westeros for a fool.


	6. Gaining Allies is Child's Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon adjusts to Dorne and suddenly gains a lot of friends. He really doesn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of abuse, non graphic and usually just mentions of bruises but still warning. Mentions of blood and death also. This is an intense chapter. Sorry.

_ “True leadership isn't about having an idea. It's about having an idea and recruiting other people to execute on this vision.” _

_ -Leila Janah _

 

3rd Person PoV

 

Jon knew that he had several things going against him when it came to making friends. First he didn’t really know how to make friends, his brother made it seem effortless but he was a trueborn heir and extremely charismatic and friendly. Jon was none of those things. Second, he was a Northerner and one with Stark blood. Many were not happy that he was bonded with the princess, including said princess, and the whole of Dorne had a good reason for hating his father. On top of that all of these Dornish believe Northerners to be savages or prudes. Third he looked Northern and he was pale skinned with a slight tan and Stark eyes and Flint curls.

 

However he decided that even if he didn’t have the Dornish accent or look he would do his best to acclimate. He had even taken to wearing Dornish silks recently, in darker colors of course, but still of Dornish make.

 

When he went to the Water Gardens with Prince Oberyn, a man who Jon couldn’t help but admire despite his reputation, he was told to go play in one of the many pools with the other children. So he made his way being escorted there by Ser Daemon. He was warned that he couldn’t be left in just small clothes else he be made fun of by the other children.

 

There was a large outdoor chest of drawers with children’s clothes scattered about. He took off his clothes and found an empty drawer and put them in. He then made his way towards the pools.

 

He finds one of the larger cooler ones and dives in. It’s probably the coldest he’s been since he entered the Neck. He loves it immediately. There are other children running about and one boy seems to consider him. He takes Jon in before huffing and walking off. Jon swims around in the cold pool for a while before making his way towards one of the warmer ones. 

 

He hears a girl crying and follows the sound. The girl is around Sansa’s age and has the dark hair and dark skin that is common in Dorne. However her eyes were a bright blue that was similar to his younger sister Sansa’s. Her hair is disheveled and it looks like she’s been attacked. Jon knowing his younger sister Sansa wouldn’t want her hair looking like that approaches the girl.

 

“My lady are you alright?” She looks at him.

 

“I-I’m fine.”

 

“Did someone mess up your hair my lady?” She nods jerkily. “Well I could try and help you fix it. I have a little sister who would always wish to have her hair braided. I only know Northern plaits but…”

 

“Thank you Lord Consort.” She says and Jon will have to get used to that title surely.

 

“Please call me Jon my lady and your name is?”

 

“I am Dara Drinkwater, and you may call me Dara if I am to call you Jon, Lord Consort.”

 

“It is nice to meet you Lady Dara, is there a brush around?”

 

Jon brushes through the girl’s hair and they talk about their families. She only has a twin sister and no brothers or other sisters. Her father not wishing to remarry after their mother died. She was shocked at the number of siblings he had. When he spoke of Robb she remarked that it sounded remarkably like her relationship with her twin sister Daria who was at their family castle.

 

Apparently a group of boys had been teasing her on her strange eyes. They told her it reminded them on White Walkers.

 

“Well my lady, White Walkers are terrifying enemies. If you can unnerve them with just a glance then it shall serve you well in life.” 

 

“That is rather wise Lord Consort.” A boy says and Jon looks up to see him. 

 

“Aemond!”

 

“I am sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from the others. Thank you for comforting my friend Lord Consort.”

 

“Please call me Jon, and you are Aemond of what house?”

 

“I am a bastard of House Vaith. And you may call me what you like but I doubt I can call you Jon.” The man certainly looked like he could be an Aemond. 

 

His hair was a shockingly bright blonde. His skin pale for Dorne, and he is lean to the point of almost being scrawny. His hair was as long as a woman’s and he had dark eyelashes around dark eyes. He could pass himself off as a girl. He could see how a girl with strange eyes and a boy that looked like a girl could become close friends.

 

“Prince Oberyn seems to be rather informal and I doubt the Princess would care. She… does not care for me much. Although we do have a large age difference and it is a new relationship-”

 

“The Princess takes after her mother. They do not often have success in love.” Jon immediately picks up on what the other child is implying.

 

Princess Mellario was practically a joke in Dorne and among the people. She was a foreign daughter of a rich merchant. She was spoiled and rebelled against her duties as the Ruling Prince’s wife. Eventually abandoning her own children and going home to Norvos.

 

“Yes, although I could not say for sure. I never met Princess Mellario.”

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

When Jon and the Prince were going back to Sunspear some children with them. Luckily for Jon, Aemond and Dara were among the group. Jon had exciting things to write about to Loras and Robb.

 

Dara wasn’t too keen on learning the sword and spear like Aemond and Jon were doing. However Nymeria had taken her under her and began teaching her about throwing knives which she took to easily.

 

Soon enough another boy named Lorek began to train with Jon and Aemond. He was a sandy dornish with light brown hair and hazel eyes along with a dusting of freckles across his surprisingly dark skinned nose. He was more lighthearted when compared to Jon and Aemond. The other boy was nice to have around, despite his penchant of keeping the large desert spiders and scorpions as pets. 

 

With him another girl named Jayne Ladybright. She was three years his elder. She had caramel colored skin and golden eyes. She was a true lady already at only ten years of age. She knew all of her courtesies and could embroider better than many women that Jon knew. Why she would become friends with Jon he truly didn’t understand.

 

The children of Dorne rallied around Jon for some reason. Many were bastards and Jon could understand them coming to his side. However, he also had some trueborn heirs and heiress’ befriending him. 

 

He couldn't fathom it. At least until he began to understand the political climate. Dorne was roiling beneath the surface, a pit of snakes, spiders, and scorpions. Many still distrusted Prince Doran for not launching into war after his sister’s death even though after so long they now understood. However, with his wife rebelling against her duties as Princess of Dorne and Arianne looking so much like her. Many were not excited for the spoiled, immature, young woman to take the throne.

 

Of course her being marked with Jon’s mark did not make the older generation happy. They thought it was another sign that she was not a good candidate for Ruling Princess of Dorne. Jon assumed that the younger generation found Jon to be a better alternative to get into the Royal Family’s good graces. Arianne had mercurial moods and was just as likely to reject someone complimenting her as she was to accept them. Oberyn seemed to have taken Jon under his wing along with his beloved daughters. Jon thought as a lonely and polite young boy the children of Dorne, and their parents, thought he was to be easily manipulated.

 

One child was not the same. His name was Lord Edric Dayne, a year younger than Jon and his supposed cousin. Edric and Jon both had prodigious skill in swordsmanship. They quickly bonded and even though the boy was fostering in the Stormlands, they like Jon and Loras stayed in touch.

 

In the first two years Jon had accidentally turned the majority of Dorne against the Princess. There weren’t many times when Jon had to be at Arianne’s side, but when he did he was often slapped or had his arm and hand squeezed to the point of bruising. Many times the individual fingers of the princess could be seen and the size of her hand.

 

His friends would report this back to their families. It only proved to many that Princess Arianne was unfit for the throne.

 

During his tenth year there was a surge of the number of bandits in and around Sunspear. Jon was set to squire under Ser Daemon once the man returned to Sunspear from the family castle of the Allyrion’s. Prince Oberyn and many of the knights and warriors went with him to route out the outlaws. It was a normal hot day in the Dornish capital. Jon and Obara had been training together when a servant approach them.

 

“Lady Obara, the Princess and Lady Elia are missing!”

 

“What?”

 

“Are there any horses missing?” Jon asks concerned for Elia more than the Princess if he is being honest.  


 

“Yes, two, one for Lady Elia and one for the Princess. It is there preferred mounts as well.” Obara curses angrily.

 

“Of course, Jon get my sisters. We have to go find the Princess and my other sister.”

 

“Yes my lady.”

 

Jon rushed through the castle and found Nymeria, and Sarella. They immediately followed him and they rushed to their horses. Obara had brought all of the weapons they didn’t have. There were bows for Sarella and Nymeria, who could actually use them, and crossbows for Jon and Obara. She also handed him his first real steel sword and a spear. They rode off in the direction a nervous stable boy had pointed them in.

 

They ride out into the desert and find an ambush sight at the bottom of a dune. The Princess’ horse was dead on the ground with a sword wound in its side. Obara cursed once again and Jon found a strip of Elia’s dress.

 

“Obara, it’s Elia’s,” Jon looked in the distance and found another torn off piece of dress. “She’s leaving a trail for us to follow.”

 

“Good, let’s follow it.”

 

They follow the trail of dress pieces to a campsite. Unfortunately for the bandits their chosen spot was perfect for an ambush. The four bastards climbed to the top of the dune shielding the camp from sight. There was a group of men with their faces and heads covered to protect them from the sun. There were about eleven or ten of them. However the leader was definitely Tyrosh if the strange hair colors were anything to go by.

 

“That man was to be arrested for attempting to steal Dornish girls and sell them into slavery.” Sarella tells them. “He fled from justice and no doubt he is going to try and use the princess for a pardon.”

 

“Well, maybe he should pray to his gods for a pardon.” Obara growled lowly and Jon was inclined to agree.

 

Jon loads his crossbow, alongside Obara. Sarella and Nymeria knocked their arrows as they climbed to the top and aimed. Jon took a deep breath and aimed for the chest of one man. He fired, and killed for the first time. He loaded again and hit another in the throat. Then the men realized where the arrows were coming from and Jon grabbed his spear. A man crested the hill and Jon stuck his spear up, under his ribs and the man’s armor. 

 

Blood splattered onto Jon and he grabbed a sword and charged down the hill. He jumped onto one man and Jon thrusted his sword into the man’s eye. Obara slashed a man and he seemed to either die or get knocked out before killing the last man. The first man she had attacked slashed Jon across the back.

 

He went down with a cry, and the other man was quickly killed.

 

“Jon don’t fall asleep!” Nymeria ordered him and then turned to her sisters. “Come on we need to get back to the castle! Now! Obara take Arianne! Sarella take Elia!”

 

Jon is loaded onto the front of the horse. He’s kept awake by the horse’s movements. The Sand Snakes talk to him after the horse stops. He gets to Maester where he finally is allowed to sleep and his world goes dark.


	7. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has more trouble with the Princess and Oberyn tells Jon the truth because he deserves to fucking know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!WARNING!!!!!!!!
> 
> Some more sort of relationship abuse, sort of graphic. Just wanted you all to know. Also a timeskip.
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long but classes hit hard, everyone is fucking sick, and I just didn't have a lot of motivation. Hope you all enjoy.

_ “Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for.” _

_ -Bob Marley _

 

3rd Person PoV

 

**3 Years Later**

 

Jon was able to heal from the slash across his back although it went across his mark. His father was informed of course but Jon could not leave Dorne until he was bonded with his fellow marked. The mark on his shoulder blade was pale, faded almost out of existence. Truly the only reason one could still see it was because of his pale skin. He never saw the mark on the Princess, she kept it covered despite her penchant for revealing clothing. 

 

Over the years Jon had slowly and carefully gathered a group of allies, mostly from minor houses. Snows and Sands made surprisingly good allies. He had also begun to blend in with the Dornish people. He wore their clothing in House Martell’s colors, given a bit of his own twist. Truly clothing was ridiculously important in the South. He made sure to always have the Martell’s sigil on his clothing, and a hidden white wolf. He began to develop a Dornish lilt to his Northern accent, and spoke the appropriate flowery words. He used the spear and sword, and although he would never be renowned for his abilities with the spear he was good enough.

 

Arianne still hated Jon. Of course instead of his original thoughts that it was because he was a child and a Northerner it was much deeper than that. 

 

The Northerners had been considered enemies of Dorne ever since the Sack. No one in Dorne knew that his father had disagreed with the King on pardoning Elia’s killers. So her being the fated of a boy with Stark blood was a sign to many traditionalists of Dorne that she would be an unfit ruler and soft on their enemies. While Dorne had had many Ruling Princess’ in the past including Arianne’s grandmother, they always had an uphill battle against the traditionalists, usually the Yronwoods. The two of them being fated was not a good way to start her potential rule. On top of that everyone South of the Neck apparently confused Northerners with Wildlings, as flayers, cannibals, and all around savages.

 

Of course when Jon arrived and acted nothing like the sort they thought it to be an influence of his Dornish blood. Jon did not see any of these men and women going North to verify their hypotheses. It was a continually frustrating train of thought for Jon.

 

Of course today he had to look his best, and interact with the Princess. He hated being forced next to her in a mummer’s show of how he was not a savage. He felt like an object to be stared at rather than a person. The princess was also very insistent on how he should behave, and while Jon had gotten better at not angering the woman for small things. He still was often times grabbed by the Princess with enough force to leave bruises on his stubbornly pale skin, and slapped on the back of the head.

 

He was 10-and-3 now and taller than the Princess and many men wouldn’t have stood for such treatment. However, Jon knew of his precarious place in Dorne. He was half hostage, half supposed spy. He was something Dorne could hold over the North and someone who couldn’t be trusted. If he hit the Princess or acted anything other than how he was expected to then many in Dorne would call for his death or arrange it themselves. He felt like a woman in a marriage she did not want and with a horrid husband. He could only hope nothing like this happened to his sisters. Otherwise he would kill the man who did so and go to the Wall gladly.  


 

Tonight was a feast welcoming back Quentyn as he visited his ancestral seat from his fostering at Yronwood with the family of the same name. Jon had met Quentyn once before when he traveled with Ser Daemon to see the Yronwoods. He seemed to be a smart, kind, and ultimately forgettable person had he not been a Prince of Dorne. 

 

He stood alongside the Sand Snakes wearing orange while they seemed to favor gold. He stood out even more for his still surprisingly pale skin, silvery eyes, and dark curls along with the fact that he was male. Despite sticking out like a sore thumb, he felt like one of the Sand Snakes rather than the princess’ bonded. Oberyn had taken Jon under his wing along with his daughters, and had it been okay for him to do he would have called them sister in front of everyone.

 

At the feast he was in his best clothes which he was close to growing out of. The Prince had already gotten someone to take his measurements and ordered fabric. While the Princess had begun taking more of a role when it came to the running of Sunspear. Prince Oberyn took a special interest in Jon and made sure that he was clothed better than Arianne would have left him.

 

He sat next to the Princess and tried not to grimace when she pinched him on the inner thigh and hissed in his ear about proper manners. He nodded knowing it was better to be silent in the face of the princess’ cruelty. The feast continued and the Princess disappeared from his side at some time earlier in the night. It was getting late and Jon had already had two cups of wine which was his internally set limit.

 

“Obara I shall be retiring to my rooms. I’ve had enough wine.”

 

“Alright you little rule follower go! We will just have to have fun for you!”

 

“I have to ride out tomorrow early! I’m not riding out looking for bandits whilst I throw up my guts and can barely keep my eyes open!”

 

“Boo!” He rolls his eyes at them and make his way towards his rooms. 

 

On the way he sees a swaying woman, her back to him. Her hair is mussed and she is giggling. The man speaking to her looks much more sober, and much older. Jon, being taught by Oberyn and Ser Daemon, goes to the lady’s side to see if she needs help. He just wishes to make sure she is alright and not being taken advantage of.

 

“My lady?” She whirls around and her face is immediately incensed and recognizable to Jon. “Princess, I apologize, I didn’t realize it was you. I shall leave you to your night.” She grabs his arm hard enough to bruise.

 

“You always apologize!” She is very drunk. “Yes princess, no princess, sorry princess. You don’t have any bite at all! A trained dog!”

 

“Well at least I’m not a spoiled whore, princess.” Jon says yanking his arm out of her grip and inclines his head to the older man. “Now excuse me while I go and avoid crowding your bed.”

 

There is a flare of pain. It’s on his neck and face and when he puts a hand to the wound there is bright red blood on his hand when he draws it away. He really hopes that she didn’t hit anything vital. The neck was a bad area to be hit and he wasn’t sure if the strange sensation in his head came from the wine or the wound.

 

“Bad Dog!” She giggles and turns to a man who looks like he really wishes to run away from the drunk woman wielding a bloodied dagger.

 

Jon turns away from her and makes it towards the Maester. He bangs on the door and the man opens the door. He ushers Jon in and looks horrified at the state he was in.

 

“Who did this to you?”

 

“The princess,” Jon was swaying which was probably from the blood loss.

 

His world went black and he fell forward.

 

&  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &  &

 

There is a frantic knocking on the door or Prince Oberyn’s door. He groans and Ellaria pushes him to his feet.

 

“Figure out what is happening. The knocking is ruining the mood lover.” Oberyn hastily laces up his pants and stalks towards the door.

 

He pulls it open almost knocking over the servant boy on the other side. He looks terrified and worried. He is alone and he is one of the many messengers that Sunspear employs.  


 

“Prince Oberyn! Lord Snow was slashed across the throat!” The man’s heart almost stopped.

 

“What? Who did it?!” The prince demands of the cowering servant boy.

 

“I don’t know your grace. I was only told that you need to see the maester.”

 

Oberyn grabs a dagger and stalks toward the Maester leaving the poor boy to Ellaria. He would feel bad about this later but he didn’t have time. Jon Snow might be their only chance to have a Targaryen on the throne once again. He might not be Elia’s son but he is kin. The journey to the Maester was quick, Oberyn’s long strides not leaving a lot of time for him to think or worry.

 

The Maester was there to greet him at the door and he prayed that the boy wasn’t dead.

 

“Maester what is going on?” He steps into the room. “Is he dead?”

 

“No, luckily the majority of the slash was along his jaw and not his throat and no major blood vessels were hit. He will live as long as it doesn’t become infected. He is asleep for right now.”

 

“Did he say who did this to him?”

 

“He said the Princess and I of course thought maybe someone was attacking her and sent guards. I don’t truly know, your grace.” Oberyn took a deep breathe and prayed that his niece was not the one who slashed her soulmate’s throat and face.

 

“How is the princess?”

 

“Drunk, very drunk.” Oberyn rubbed his temples.

 

“Wonderful, I’ll speak to her in the morning.” Oberyn took a deep breathe and sat down next to Jon.

 

He looked as pale as he had been when Oberyn first met him. The boy would never have the olive skin tone his brother and sister had but he was certainly no longer the color of milk. He had a couple of freckles across his nose. His voice had recently deepened and stopped changing at random, and he was growing taller. The man was never going to be like his mother’s people, as he got older the more similarities between his father were revealed. Oberyn felt that it was time to tell him the truth. Jon was getting old enough that he could understand the political unrest of the Realm and if they didn’t tell him he might be angry.

 

He stayed vigil at the boy’s bedside until his eyelids fluttered at day break. Oberyn could never break the boy out of some of the Northern habits he had, the honor and waking up at dawn were a few. He squinted and groaned and went to sit up.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He looked over at Oberyn with bleary eyes.

 

“Prince Oberyn? What…?” Then he seemed to remember last night. “I’m alive.”

 

“Yes, you are. What exactly happened last night?” His face becomes a grimace and he takes in a deep breath looking at the ceiling.

 

“I left feast early. I was supposed to ride out today and I didn’t want to be puking my guts out while I was fighting off bandits.” He takes a deep breathe. “As I was making my way back to my rooms I saw a intoxicated woman being leered at by an older man. I didn’t realize until she turned around that it the Princess.” He moves his head and winces, another deep breathe. “She wasn’t... enthused at my presence and I apologized for interrupting whatever she was doing. I don’t exactly want to know what goes on in her bed. She was drunk and angry and I said something I shouldn’t have and she had a dagger and slashed me in response. Then I went to the Maester and that’s the last thing I remember.”

 

“I see,” there is silence. “What exactly did you say to her?”

 

“I believe I called her a spoiled whore or something to that effect.” Oberyn didn’t know exactly how to react to that. “I was just tired of her constant insults, and it was stupid.”

 

“It was but you’ve already been punished enough at this point.” There is a long stretching silence. “I need to tell you something.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Your father isn’t… your father. He’s your uncle.” The boy looks horrified.

 

“Why didn’t he tell me? Why are you telling me? So I’m Brandon’s son-”

 

“You’re Lady Lyanna’s son.” His eyes get large.

 

“Oh,” is the boy’s response. “Does she know?”

 

“Her father doesn’t trust her with the information for reason’s you know. I thought I should tell you considering you almost died under our care… twice.”

 

“Do you hate me?” Jon asks of Oberyn once he took in what Oberyn said and his face.  


 

“No, you weren’t even born when your siblings and my sister were killed. They were both our kin. I blame Tywin Lannister, the Mountain, Amory Lorch, and your blood father for their deaths. Not you, or even your mother considering how young she was, a fucking child.” There is silence in the room for an almost uncomfortable amount of time.  


 

“That’s rather mature of you, your grace.” The boy tells him.

 

“Thank you I try to be mature sometimes.” He chuckles and Oberyn ruffles the boy’s hair. “You’re like my son Jon, and you are my kin. Arianne might not know or care but Doran and I will always try and help. Now go back to sleep. You need rest.”

 

“Says the man who will have forty name days before I’m 10-and-5. Shouldn’t you be taking a nap old man?” 

 

“I’m not what you would call a Greybeard. I have some youth in me yet brat.”

 

“Of course your grace.”

 

Oberyn shakes his head at the young boy with his dead niece’s smile. It doesn’t hurt badly to see the child smile. He lost just as much as he did, if not more. He waits until the boy falls back asleep, and then quietly leaves.   
  



End file.
